


Remembering You

by EvaristeGalois, Marshview



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Art, Character Death - Narcissa, Digital Art, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Issues, Fanart, H/D Wireless 2018, Healers, M/M, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, Prompt Art, Terminal Illnesses, Unconventional Families
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-06 22:01:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15204380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvaristeGalois/pseuds/EvaristeGalois, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marshview/pseuds/Marshview
Summary: After Narcissa's long illness, Draco is left with only memories of his Mother, stored in a magical photograph album.This story by EvaristeGalois and artwork by Marshview was made for HD Wireless 2018, for the song 'Pictures of You', by The Cure, prompted byTDCat.Official song video with lyrics





	Remembering You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TDCat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TDCat/gifts).



> Author's Note:  
> This is my first time posting anything I have written, and it's so scary, but I'm so happy to contribute to a fandom that's given me so much. Thank you to everyone that reads this. You are a gem.
> 
> When Marshview told me about the prompt I just got so many ideas, but I was terrified to do this. They were amazing and supportive. It was such a pleasure to work with them. They were an awesome beta, too, and I learnt so much from their edits. Not to mention how beautiful their art is, and how easy it was to form words from looking at the images.
> 
> Artist's Note:  
> This is my first venture making digital art, and it's definitely a learning curve. When I saw this prompt, I immediately had an idea about what the song could mean to Draco, and quickly thought of what I wanted to draw. The song is one of my longtime favourites, and I'm still in love with it, even though it's been stuck in my brain on repeat since January.
> 
> I originally claimed the prompt thinking I would do both the art and the writing, but by the end of May, I realised I needed help. Through the Drarry Fans | Writers + Artists Discord chat, EvaristeGalois came to my rescue, writing a great story to go with my half-formed ideas and images. Eva, you are absolutely wonderful. Thank you for making this adventure so much more than it would otherwise have been. It's been such fun collaborating with you. I can't believe this is not only your first Fest, but your first posted work! I'm so grateful you were willing to jump in head-first with me.
> 
> To the moderators:  
> Thank you so much from both of us for being so patient and understanding when real life bogged us down in June. We really appreciated your generosity with the extension.

“Hello Mother, I’ve really missed you. It's been about year and I’m not quite over you being gone. I've been going through the Malfoy album; the one Father gave you. I've been looking so long at these pictures of you that I almost believe that they're real. I often find myself pulling out a scroll and quill to write you a letter, only to remember you are not here anymore.”

Draco was back at the Manor for the first time in almost a year. It didn’t feel like home without his family there. The Manor was not warm and welcoming; the only bright spots in this place had been his parents, and without them it was just cold dark shell, full of too many ugly memories.  Even now, he couldn’t make himself go inside. Instead, he walked through the gardens to Mother’s favourite bench. The family mausoleum loomed in the distance, another he thing simply could not face just yet.

He wished he had done more for her, but it was too late. He was always too late. If only he had realised sooner, he might have found a cure. Unfortunately, his mother had kept her illness to herself for far too long. Draco had finally uncovered her secret, but by the time he had, caught unawares, it was much too late.

The day he found out, he knew his life was about to change, he just hadn’t realised why...

Brave was not something he had been called often, but today he was going to be brave, taking his life by the reins, reaching for what he wanted. For the first time in his life he was going to risk it all. He was finally going to tell Harry he loved him. Every interaction with Harry had been leading up to today. For months, they had shared subtle glances and secret smiles. When he thinks about it, he has probably loved Harry since their school days, without even realising it.

The things he used to think annoyed him about Harry in school were things he now loved.  People always spoke about Potter’s striking eyes, but Draco really loved his eyebrows. Like his hair, they were unruly. If it were anyone else, Draco would have suggested they get plucked, but he loved them as they were. They were so expressive, Draco could read Potter’s moods just by the arch of his brows. He could spend hours tracing them, and maybe now he could finally get a chance to do just that.

It was almost time to go; he needed to leave now or risk being late. He had asked Harry to meet him at a pub they usually went to, often after visiting Teddy. Potter’s friends didn’t approve of their friendship, but that didn’t stop Draco from spending every Saturday evening with Harry in The Wands & Roses, their own special hole in the wall.

The floo powder was in his hand when he heard it—a loud crash and a thump coming from upstairs. Panic gripped his chest, as his mother was the only one upstairs at this time. Death threats still came regularly, and there had even been attempts on their lives. He raced up the stairs, taking them three at a time. All the while, he was thinking, _Please, let nothing have happened to Mother._

He skidded into her room. Her favourite tea set lay shattered on the ground, its contents bleeding out onto the floor, into the hem of his mother’s nightgown. She lay unconscious and unmoving on the ground. Draco immediately thought the worst.

“No, no, no!” he repeated over and over, falling to his knees.

He released an anxious breath as he found a weak pulse beating in her neck. Draco hugged her furiously before trying to rouse her, to no avail. He picked her up and immediately apparated into St Mungo’s.

“Please, can someone help my mother!” He cried urgently, running towards the help desk the moment his feet touched ground. Two nurses converged on him. He almost didn’t let go when they levitated her into a bed.

Draco tried to follow her into the room, but they wouldn’t let him. He craned his neck to see inside, but they shut the curtains. He didn’t know what to do with himself now.

A nurse came to escort him to the waiting area when his pacing in the hallway became too disruptive. So, he just paced in the waiting area. There had never been a break-in at the Manor; he had thought they were safe there. It was all his fault—he should have renewed the wards. Draco hadn’t even looked around. What if the assailant was still in the house? Now, it was possibly too late. He couldn’t imagine life without Mother. Suddenly, Harry's patronus rushed up to him.

“Draco, where are you? I’ve been waiting here for an hour,” the majestic stag said in Harry's voice. Draco had forgotten about his meeting with Harry. He couldn’t summon up a happy thought to send a patronus back to him, so he had the nurse direct him to the nearest floo bank and called the The Wands & Roses, where Harry hopefully still was. The bar manager knew him, and was quick to find Harry.

“Draco, are you okay? They said I had a call from St. Mungo’s.” Harry said quickly.

Draco shook his head, “No, it’s not me. It’s Mother, she, I—I don’t know, something happened.”

“Stand back, I’m coming through,” Harry said. Draco stood back. Harry rushed out of the flames, and immediately wrapped him in his arms. They didn’t do this often. Draco initially was a little hesitant to return the embrace, but then he let himself accept the comfort he was being offered. 

Eventually, they let go, and migrated to the uncomfortable hospital chairs, hand-in-hand. Draco explained the situation. Harry was almost as distraught as Draco, as he had grown quite close to Narcissa. They frequently spent time together, even without Draco. Lately, they could often be found whiling away their summer afternoons in the Manor gardens. Narcissa had somehow had even somehow roped Harry into her love of gardening.

They waited almost an hour before a short, curly-haired woman in Healer's robes came to find them.

“Mr Malfoy, I'm Healer Abiola. Can we speak privately?”

“No, it’s alright. You can talk in front of Harry," Draco said.

“Okay, then, if you two could follow me to my office,” she replied.

When they were seated, Draco’s patience ran out. “Look, just tell me what’s going on with my mother.”

“I’ve been handling your mother’s case for the past few years, and I’m sad to say, her illness has progressed to the next stage. She should be awake in a few hours and we can discuss the next step,” she said evenly.

Draco was confused. “What do you mean you’ve been handling her case for years? She only got sick a few hours ago.”

“She didn’t tell you?” Healer Abiola asked, raising her eyebrows.

“No, what is going on?” Draco was starting to panic. Harry squeezed his hand, trying to comfort him, but Draco wrenched his hand out of his grip. He didn’t need comfort, because nothing was wrong, and his mother is perfectly healthy. This was all just some simple mistake. 

“Six years ago, your mother was diagnosed with Alvina Strauss syndrome. It is a genetic blood disease that usually only expresses itself in females. We don't often see it in witches, because it typically is only found in the Muggle population.The symptoms are usually very minor until eventually the disease progresses, like your mother’s has. She’s been on a steady treatment regimen, but we always knew our efforts would only delay the inevitable.  I’m sorry Mr Malfoy, but we estimate she only has maybe a year left.”

“No. You must be wrong! She was healthy until today. I don’t know what you are trying to pull, but I am not amused,” Draco sneered.

Healer Abiola folded her hands and pursed her lips. “Mr Malfoy, this is not a joke. This disease is very serious. We have been treating it successfully, but the potions are no longer working. Now is the time that we would suggest to our patients that they start making end of life arrangements.”

This was not happening. End of life arrangements? No, his mother was healthy. Healer Abiola must be wrong. They needed a second opinion. Draco insisted on getting the second opinion, so Healer Abiola called in a colleague to consult. Of course, the consulting Healer agreed with her, but even he still refused to believe it.

“I would have seen it,” Draco said to Harry as they waited for Narcissa to wake up. “If she really was as sick as they say, I would have seen it.”

“No, you wouldn’t have, not if she didn’t want you to. You know how clever she is at concealing her emotions,” Harry responded.

“We don’t keep secrets from each other.”

“She probably had her reasons for keeping it from you. You won’t know until you actually talk to her.” Harry reasoned.

“What if it’s true?” Draco asked dejectedly.

“Then, we’ll take care of her.”

Later, when they finally informed him his mother was awake, he stormed into her room already ranting about the incompetent doctors at St Mungo’s.

“Draco darling, it’s true,” Narcissa said weakly. She was slumped in bed, propped into a sitting position. Her hair was still tucked under the scarf she usually wore to sleep in, and her skin was a dreadful grey colour. It was the biggest sign of her bad health. If she were well, she never would have let anyone see her like this.

Just like that, all the fire went out of him. He stopped at the foot of her bed, gripping the railing for support.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Draco asked. 

She beckoned him closer, until he was seated with his head in her lap, like when he was younger. She ran her hands through his hair as she explained.

During the war, she had noticed her skin had a strange, grainy quality to it. She was diagnosed with Alvina Strauss soon after. Because there was a war going on, she didn’t have time to be worrying about a disease that was not going to kill her immediately. Unlike having to cope with a stray curse or the Dark Lord’s tumultuous moods, she would have time to come to terms with her illness later. But after the Battle, there were the trials, and the Malfoys were fighting for their freedom. When the dust finally settled, she didn’t want to stir it up again. Draco deserved a chance to be happy without the burden of her illness hanging over his head. She knew that if he had known, Draco would drop everything to find a cure for her.

When he eventually learned the truth, that is exactly what he did. Draco researched and studied until he found a doctor in Singapore willing to take her into a brand new clinical trial. A week later, they took a portkey to Asia.

They all, always, had the same expression on their faces, whether it was the shaman in Siberia or the voodoo priestess in New Orleans, or even this Muggle doctor in Melbourne. Over the past year, Draco and Narcissa had travelled the world looking for a cure or treatment for her illness. There had been some improvement when they had been doing a rigorous course of of herbs and tinctures in Argentina, but all the experts eventually got to this point, where they would sit Narcissa and Draco down and say, “I’m sorry, Mrs Malfoy, but…”  The Melbourne doctor kept speaking, but Narcissa knew what he was saying without comprehending his words—it was the same thing every other doctor said, that the treatments weren’t working.

Narcissa had heard it so many times, she thought she should be used to it, but every failed trial just chipped away at her soul. She had known about her illness for years, of course, and she knew her disease was incurable. Knowing this didn’t stop a little bit of hope blooming in her heart every time they tried a new treatment, but every time it didn’t work, that hope died. The constant disappointment was not even the worst part; the worst was seeing her son lose himself in his quest to find a cure for her.

Every time the doctors said those words, she watched his heart break just a little bit more. Every time he got his hopes up, and every time he got hurt. He didn’t eat enough anymore, and the bags under his eyes had become a permanent fixture, brought on by late nights poring through heavy, dusty tomes of ancient potions, and scouring the Muggle internet for the latest medical research. Draco tried to hide it under glamours, but she knew and she couldn’t let him keep going on like this.

“You said that you had good results with former patients, that you could cure her,” Draco said.

“Your mother’s case is very advanced—” the doctor tried to explain, but Draco interrupted him.

“Yes, and you knew this when you took her into your trial,” he retorted. The doctor attempted to reply but Draco just kept going. He did this every time; he lashed out, and Narcissa just waited until he tired himself out, and then they left. He had grown and changed so much, but some things stayed the same.

“Draco,” Narcissa said, but he either didn’t hear her or he ignored her. Narcissa tried again, a little louder. She really didn’t like to raise her voice; it was so uncouth.

“Draco, I’m tired, take me home.” He finally turned to look at her, and nodded. Draco helped her out of her chair, wrapped his arm around her waist, and let her lean her weight against him.

“You’re right, Mother, we don’t need this crackpot. Let’s head back to the hotel. I’ve got a lead on a healer in Cairo who says—”

Narcissa stopped him in his tracks. “No, Draco, I meant, take me home, to England.”

“But we can’t just give up. There are other healers that could find a cure,” he said desperately.

“Perhaps, but it won’t be for me.” They did not often talk about her quickly dwindling time, but they needed to, now. “We both know I don’t have much time left, and I would like to spend it at home.”

Draco let out a shaky sigh. “As you wish, Mother. I’ll book us the next portkey home.”

To an outside observer it would appear nothing had changed, but Narcissa could read him so well. His hands were shaking, and he would soon put them in his pockets to hide the tremors.

He packed their bags in silence. Narcissa knew he viewed this as giving up, but she saw it as accepting her fate, and she was determined to enjoy the time she had left.

Draco had almost forgotten what day it was. He went about his morning routine as usual, before going downstairs to the kitchens to have his mother’s breakfast prepared. Nowadays, she couldn’t always make it to dining room, so they would have meals in her outer chambers. He watched as Mimsy, Narcissa's personal house elf, prepared her food and put it on a tray. He then carried the tray to her himself. As he was walking out of the kitchen, he caught a glimpse of the calendar and remembered; this was the day his father died.

He recalled the photograph that had run in the Prophet, the day after the funeral, along with the headline, “Malfoy Patriarch Dies” in lurid type. The article had dredged up all of the ugly past, and he could still see his mother, huddled in his arms, seeming so tiny, so pale, so still, and utterly fragile. He had almost expected her to collapse right there on the steps of the mausoleum, but of course they each had mustered every ounce of their Black and Malfoy discipline, maintaining their dignity, only to collapse behind closed doors, separately.

They had moved Narcissa to a spare suite on the ground floor after the stairs had proven too much for her. Her rooms were airy and pleasant, shielded from the summer's heat, yet full of light shining through generously proportioned windows and French doors. With Mimsy’s assistance, Draco had filled the room with cozy accent pieces and lush greenery. Narcissa was already seated and waiting for him when he arrived with her breakfast. He smiled. These days, he usually had to help her out of bed. That she had gotten out of bed herself meant that today was a good day. She was dressed in a beautiful black gown, and her hair was immaculately coiffed. Even now, when she could barely do most things, she still made certain she looked perfect. She could not bear to let that Malfoy-Black image crack, even if Draco and Mimsy were the only ones to see. The only signs of emotional distress were her red-rimmed eyes.

They ate in silence, and when they were done, she said “Let’s go see your Father.”

Draco nodded. He gave her his arm, and they slowly traversed through the parlour, straight into the gardens. They wound around the path to the back of the house, and stopped at the bottom of the small hill, leading to the family mausoleum.

The first time he had walked up this path, it was for his grandfather’s funeral. At the time, he was just seven years old, and he couldn’t understand where his favourite grandparent had gone. He had thrown a tantrum and demanded to know where Grandfather was. His mother had held him as he cried, and told him his grandfather had gone back to the the stars where he belonged.

Afterwards, his father had said, “Malfoys do not cry. Never show weakness like that again. You are strong. Even when your heart is hurting you cannot let it show. If they even sense weakness they will exploit it, and hurt you. So, you have to be strong. You are a Malfoy.”

Those words had stuck with Draco to that very day. No one had ever seen him cry, until that fateful day when Narcissa was in the hospital, and Potter had embraced him and comforted him. Potter had seen Draco in a lot of ways that no one else was ever supposed to witness.

Draco eyed the looming slope with disfavour. He suggested going back to get her wheelchair, but Narcissa quickly declined, claiming she could make it on her own, despite her already laboured breathing. By the time they reached the doors, Draco was supporting most of her weight. The massive doors, each bearing the Malfoy seal, swung open at a touch of his hand, and a row of torches lit up one by one. _Typical Malfoy dramatism_ , he sighed inwardly.

The Mausoleum was, of course, bigger on the inside. Every ancestor—barring those that had been excommunicated—was buried there. Luckily, his father was entombed close to the entrance. Beside his tomb, there were two vacant places, which would someday be dedicated to Mother, and to Draco himself. He skipped over the one with his mother’s name on it, because he couldn’t bear the thought that it would soon be occupied. It was even more unnerving to see his own name on the crypt next to theirs.

Draco conjured a chair for his mother. They sat there in silence, remembering Lucius. His mother broke the silence, “Your father and I were an arranged marriage, but despite this, I know without a shadow of a doubt, that he was the only one for me. He was my everything, my whole world. Then you came along.”

She smiled with a radiance that lit up her whole face. It momentarily wiped away all traces of her illness.

“I remember the night I told him about you. We had had trouble conceiving for some time, so when I found out, I was unsure. I didn’t want to get excited about you and lose you. Those first three months I didn’t even tell your father.  Keeping a secret from him was so difficult, because he was my best friend. I had planned that I would keep it to myself until I was past the first trimester, then I would tell him. Things didn’t go exactly to plan. One night we were caught in the rain—I don’t even remember where we were going, but we never made it there. I turned to look at him, and he was… breathtaking. I just blurted out, “I'm pregnant”, and he simply froze. You know your father. You could tell him he was half centaur, and all you would get was a raised eyebrow, but this time he just burst into the biggest smile I have ever seen, and we kissed as the sky fell in. He held me so close. That was the happiest I had ever seen him, until the day you were born. He loved you so much, Draco. Your father would have done anything for you. Everything he did do, it was because he thought it would give you the best future. Ultimately he made some grievous errors, but his intentions came from the right place.”

Draco had never heard this story before. His relationship with his father was never particularly close. Draco had always felt his father viewed him more as a projection of his own accomplishments, and less as a person in his own right. Hearing about his parents' early life made him reconsider everything about his father. If only he had survived Azkaban, maybe everything could have been different.

Draco and Narcissa sat there together, and reminisced until the day's light waned into long shadows.

Every evening, Draco sat at his mother’s bedside and read to her. She usually fell asleep during his readings. She slept so much these days. Dark rings shaded her eyes, despite the extra rest. Her skin was paper white and just as thin. Draco hated seeing her this way.

He retrieved the book they had been reading the night before, and sat in the chair at her bedside. As he opened it, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “Not tonight, Draco, there’s something I need to say. Join me.”

Narcissa weakly patted the space beside her. He sat on the bed and wrapped her in his arms. Draco held her gently, scared that if he held her as tightly as wanted to, he would break her brittle bones.

She didn’t speak much these days, and he could see the effort it was taking just to gather the words.

“Draco, my little dragon, I love you. Do not ever forget that. I know I don’t have much time left and I want you to know how proud I am of you. You are everything I dreamed you would be, and so much more. When I’m gone, I want you to go out and live. I want you to tell Harry how much you love him. He will be so good to you. I am so grateful, knowing your heart is in good hands.” She smiled. Draco was glad she could not see the tears falling down his face.

Draco kissed her forehead, “I love you so much, Mother.” _Please don’t leave me_ , he thought to himself. He still had so many things to tell her, to share with her, and it was too soon to say goodbye. He needed more time. If only he had thought of the right words, the right spell, the right potions combination, anything to stop this. He whispered quietly to her as he held her.  Between one breath and the next, she slipped away, quietly. His slow tears gave way to sobs as he felt the last breath leave her.

****  


Draco heard the sharp crack of apparition followed by the sound of footsteps. Even without looking down the graveled garden path, he knew who approached. Harry sat down next to him, and immediately put his arm around Draco's shoulders. Draco leaned into his embrace. He thought he would be on his own that day, but he was glad he didn’t have to be.

“I should have done more.” Draco said.

“There was nothing more you could have done.”

“I could have seen it earlier, and worked harder to find a cure.”

“Draco, that isn’t your fault. It’s just genetics. Now, tell me what are you looking at, Harry said to change the subject. They had had  this argument many times over the past year, and Harry would have it a million times more until Draco shed his guilt.

“It’s the Malfoy album. It’s been passed down from my great-grandmother to Lucius, who gave it to Mother when they were courting, and now it belongs to me. It’s a magical album. It captures all the moments you need to remember, and shows them to you when you most need to see them. You might see different images each time you open it, depending on your mood. Look, here's one of my favourite memories with my mother.”

“Mother loved the gardens so much. She loved being outside amongst the flowers, and the trees and grass. She loved to sit on this stone bench. It's probably as old as the Manor. This was her favourite spot to ‘just be’. Sometimes, even though it was highly inappropriate and unbecoming of a Pureblood, she would lie down in the grass and stare at the sky. There she'd remain, for hours, watching the clouds and the birds in flight, listening to their songs. Eventually the sky would darken, and she would gaze at the stars.

“When I was a little boy—before I grew up and started thinking it was lame to hang out with my mum so much—,” Draco let out a dry chuckle. “We would come out here and she would sit me on her lap, and point out all our family’s constellations, telling me their stories and weaving tales of my ancestry. Merlin, she was the best storyteller. She could turn even the most mundane tale into the most thrilling adventure. I was so proud that I would never be alone, because my family was always out there, written in the stars. And at the end of the tale, every single time, she would say, 'And there you are, Draco, my little dragon.' Those are some of my fondest memories, sitting in the garden with Mother, stargazing as she told me stories.”

Draco didn’t even realise that tears had started to stream down his face until Harry was there, wiping a thumb across his cheek. He leaned into the touch. He allowed Harry to put his arms around him as he cried softly, looking at the photograph. In it, Draco was probably only four years old, and he was sat in his mum’s lap on that same stone bench, while she pointed out the constellations to him. She would gesture into the distance and he would giggle, then it would start all over again. Draco thought maybe his father had taken that photograph, but he couldn’t be sure.

Harry pointed to the next page and said, “What about this one?”

Draco looked at the picture in question, and it startled a laugh out of him. The picture showed both of his parents standing and gesturing wildly to a confused and intimidated woman he remembered as his third grade tutor. “Let’s just say Miss Tuttweiler tried to tell my parents I had less than genius level intelligence, and they did not take it lightly.”

As his laughter faded, Draco said quietly, “I don’t know how to do it without them. My family is gone. They’ve always been my staunchest supporters, even when I didn’t deserve it. I don’t know how to be on my own.”

“You’re not alone, Draco, I am here with you. And your family is not gone; there's me, Teddy and Andy. We all loved your Mother, and we love you. We can be your supporters. We're right here for you.”

“Look,” Harry continued, “Here's a photo of your mum with Teddy. You know how elated she was, to reunite with Andromeda after the War. Merlin, how she loved that little scamp... how we all love him. This is what it's all about, Draco. This is our family.”

****  


Draco's breath hitched, as he gasped through his tears. “You—you’re absolutely right, Harry. You _are_ my family. You and Teddy and Andy. And I love you so very much.”

Harry smiled, “I love you very much, too, Little Dragon.”

And he touched Draco's lips with his own, in a warm and gentle kiss.

 

 

 


End file.
